


Clear

by Walsingham



Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-01
Updated: 2012-05-01
Packaged: 2017-11-04 16:04:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/395633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Walsingham/pseuds/Walsingham
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young girl is witness to a car crash involving spunky actor Alan Rickman, and rushes to his aid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clear

   I was sitting on a bus, watching a car chase being filmed on the road beside me. They weren't going particularly fast, but I didn't have much else to do except admire the Lamborghini Gallardo and the modern version of an E-Type Jaguar, while waiting for the rest of my class to get on the bus to go back to school after a geography excursion to the beach.

  After that, it all happened rather quickly, I'm afraid. One minute, the driver of the Lambo lost control, and the nose of the car was inside the bus the next, narrowly missing the people in the seats in front of me.

   Steam was billowing out of the bonnet of the Lambo, and the front windscreen was smashed in. Through the smoke, I could make out the driver, slumped over the steering wheel, unconscious. Students were pouring back out of the bus, and I was pulled along with them, but I grabbed onto a chair to stop being taken any further. The paramedics couldn't get to the Lambo driver until the bus was clear, but who knows what could happen in that time.

   Just as I decided there wasn't enough time to wait for the paramedics, there was a crackle and a spark from under the bonnet of the Lambo, and small flames began to lick at the rim. I edged around the car, kicking pieces of metal and plastic away, and, using a shattered window of the bus to pull myself up, gently knelt of the hot nose of the Lambo.

   I could hear people shouting at me, but the flames had caught onto the bus floor, and seats caught alight. Slowly, for fear the car would move, I made my way closer to the driver. Smoke made me cough, and my eyes watered, but I pushed on. I stopped to pull enough glass out of the windscreen frame for my arm to fit through easily. I brushed his hair away from his neck, and pressed to fingers against his skin to feel for his pulse. It was there, but nowhere near as strong or regular as it should be.

   I had completely forgotten about the fire around me, until a flame whipped against my exposed ankle, making me pull it in instinctively. I had to get this guy out, and I had to do it soon. Leaning in, I undid his seatbelt and checked his back and neck for breakages, as thoroughly as I could with the little time I had. I wrapped my arms around his waist and pulled. The flames were too close that I couldn't avoid them, and I could feel my legs burn as I pulled the man out of the car. I carefully turned him over so I could carry him more easily, and froze.

   Blood ran through his grey hair, down his hooked nose, past his slightly downturned lips, and onto my hand that was supporting his head.

   If I don't get him out of here, Alan Rickman could die.

   The flames have started kissing my arms, and is beginning to burn him as well. Half carrying, half dragging him, I slid into the flames that covered much of the bus, and almost the entire Lamborghini, the back of my legs sticking to the red-hot metal bonnet, and fell onto the burning floor. Supporting as much of Alan Rickman's weight as I could, I stood back up, and made my way to the door in the middle of the bus. When I finally reached it, I leant against a pole for balance, and kicked at the glass door. It shattered easily, too brittle from the heat, and I stepped into the sunlight, where senior paramedics were only just arriving. I could feel the injuries on my body sting and burn ferociously, and, when Alan Rickman had been taken out of my arms, I collapsed, having no reason to stay standing. The last thing I could remember before the darkness was Rhys, darting forward to catch me.

   I regained consciousness again a moment later, to find Rhys was still carrying me, but he was running back towards the beach, along with the rest of the grade, teachers and paramedics. I opened my eyes wider to look for Alan Rickman, only to hear a great explosion, as the fire on the Lamborghini reached the petrol, followed by ones many times louder as the bus' petrol tank exploded as well. I heard Rhys yell and felt him stumble. He limped the last few steps to where everyone else had stopped. The bus driver was standing a bit away from everyone else, gawping at what was left of his bus.

   Rhys placed me gently on a stretcher one of the paramedics had laid out for me, and turned away to look for his friends, and I saw what had made him yell out and stumble when he was carrying me. A large piece of metal, about the size of my palm, had embedded itself in his thigh. The female paramedic kneeling beside me noticed as well and signalled for another paramedic to help Rhys.

   A paramedic hurried over and took Rhys away to a large box, sat him down, and proceeded to wrap a donut bandage around his leg, making Rhys bite his lip and look skywards, his fists clenched at his sides. Ignoring the paramedic who was gently pulling off my signet ring, I looked around for Alan Rickman. I spotted him after a minute, lying on a stretcher, still unconscious. His clothing was being trimmed as well, and his skin was being doused in cold water. I looked down and saw my paramedic doing the same, but I couldn't feel the chill of the water on my burnt skin.

   Ms Myers came over to talk to the paramedic. From their conversation, I gathered that the film crew and the stunt driver in the Jag had run in the opposite direction when they saw us doing the same, and they couldn't get back to us just yet. Ms Myers turned to me, smiling, but whatever she was about to say was cut off by the noise of two enormous approaching helicopters, that came to land on the boat-ramp a few hundred metres away. Their red doors were pushed open from the inside by more paramedics, some who came to carry Alan Rickman and I on our stretches into the nearest helicopter. Rhys' paramedic supported him as he limped over to us, and was pulled up and through the doors, before they were slammed shut behind him. He slumped into a seat beside me, and stared out the window while a paramedic fussed over him, as if he was not quite able to believe what was happening.

   With Rhys otherwise distracted, I turned my head to look at Alan Rickman. He only had minor burns to his face and neck, whereas I had none, but from the chest down, we were both burnt and battered. Someone stuck something into my arm, and my last thought was of how peaceful he looked, given his current state, before I joined him in sleep.

***

   I woke up again a few hours later, in a bed in Mona Vale hospital. I knew it was Mona Vale, because I could see the hill me and my friends ice-sled down one evening out of the window beside me. I was hidden from the rest of the ward by baby blue curtains. What I could see of my skin was red, the worst of the burns covered in some sort of cream and thin bandages, and I had a drip connected to a bag of stuff hanging beside my bed in my arm. A nurse in pink scrubs stepped through a gap in the curtains.

   "Ah, you're awake! You were very brave, you know, to rescue someone like that," she said, smiling. I blinked. "I'll just call your doctor." She pressed a blue button on the wall beside me, checked the drip, and disappeared back behind the curtains. A moment later, a woman in a white coat that looked one size to big pulled the curtains away and picked up the clipboard hanging over the foot of my bed.

   "Okay, everything seems to be okay on the chart. Only a few burns will leave much more than a scar, but we will have to keep you for about another week, in case things turn around suddenly. With the scars, there is the option of skin grafting, but too much of your skin is not appropriate to cover all the scars. We will see how well you heal, and give you time to think about it. Oh, my name is Dr Slark, by the way," she said, hanging the chart back on the foot of the bed.

   "Where's Rhys and Alan? How are they?" I asked

   "Rhys is being treated for extensive cuts to the back of his legs, and will be released tomorrow. Alan is in this ward with you. He has the same level of burns as you, but, miraculously, didn't sustain any injury except concussion in the accident. He woke up five minutes after you did," she replied. Sure enough, I heard Alan's voice from behind the curtain to my right.

   "What happened?" Alan asked his doctor in his trademark voice.

   "You were in a car accident, Mr Rickman. The car you were in lost control, crashed into the side of a bus, and caught alight. A girl on the bus dragged you out of the front windscreen and saved your life," a male voice replied. His answer was met with silence.

   "Oh my gosh," I whispered, covering my mouth with my hands. "That was me. I saved him. I saved Alan Rickman!"

   Dr Slark laughed as Alan's doctor appeared from behind the curtains and came over to us.

   "Mr Rickman would like to see you, miss," he said, pulling a wheel chair out from under my bed and unfolding it. I nodded, and the two doctors helped me into the wheel chair. Dr Slark wheeled me over to Alan's curtains, and the other doctor pulled them back. As Dr Slark pushed me closer, Alan turned his head to me.

  "Thank you," he said, nodding briefly to the two doctors, and they left. "And thank you," he said, looking back at me.

   I shrugged. "Anytime." Alan let out a short laugh at this.

   "I'm serious. I can never thank you enough," he said, smiling sadly.

   "It's okay. Do you remember what happened?"

   "I can remember up to driving the Lamborghini, then nothing. Dr Michaels said I was in a car accident, and that I was saved by a young girl. Can you fill in any of the gaps?"

   I told him what I remembered while he watched me, a small frown etched on his face. I told him everything, except how the flames hurt, how I felt when I recognised him, and how I felt when Rhys was with me. He nodded slowly when I finished talking, but he didn't seem to want to talk about it much, so we gradually moved onto other subjects, any we could think of. He asked me about school, I asked him about being an actor. I think he liked talking to someone like me. Someone that treated as equal, instead of however interviewers and people of the like treated him.

   The time seemed to whizz by, and before I knew it, Dr Slark was helping me back into my own bed, and the curtains were being drawn around us. I fell into a very deep sleep quickly, contented by the thought that Alan was breathing nearby because of me. It made me feel useful in my otherwise dull life.

***

   It was still dark when Alan awoke to the sound of doctors and nurses yelling for crash carts and defibrillators. He could hear the crash carts trundle past his closed curtains. He sat up, ignoring the stabs of pain, and peered through a gap where the curtains hadn't been closed properly. What he saw made his heart break. The young girl who had saved him was lying on a stretcher, too still for it to be okay. The heart monitor attached to her was squealing, showing a still heartbeat.

   Alan watched as Dr Slark yelled "Clear!" and pushed the defibrillators onto the girl's bare chest. The girl's body jumped a bit, but the heart monitor didn't stop squealing. Dr Slark tried several more times before Dr Michaels grabbed her shoulders and told her to announce a time of death. Dr Slark chucked the defibrillators onto the crash cart, wiped her forehead and checked her watch.

   "Time of death, 2:36 a.m."

   He never even knew her name.

**Author's Note:**

> I am quite sadistic, so I apologise for what happened!  
> Reviews are always appreciated  
> xx  
> And yes. I did call Alan Rickman 'spunky'.  
> xx


End file.
